


Of Pooka and Werewolves

by Kayasurin



Series: The White Wolf [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: JackRabbit - Freeform, Jackrabbit Week, M/M, Patricia Briggs' universe, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3691251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayasurin/pseuds/Kayasurin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of fics in the White Wolf series for Jackrabbit week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

Was this really the right decision?

Aster folded another sweater, and then settled it in the bag with the rest. It was really a sad example of what humans wore for clothes these days, he thought. And Jack preferred this? The hooded sweaters were barely fit for the rag bin, and presumably they were new! The pants were a little better, but he'd seen peasantry with more refined garments. The current fashions made him shake his head and sigh, and seeing Jack wear them...

It was a little like watching a djinn try to shackle itself to mortal life. There was a _reason_ why spirits generally wore clothes that were... old fashioned, at best. The fashions that one grew up with were the ones that were most comfortable, that you thought about the least, which meant one's magic worked best on them. And spirits didn't have to put up with the 'suffer for fashion' nonsense that normally went on...

None of which had anything to do with his real trepidation.

Jack, on the other side of the small cave, hissed under his breath. It could have been anything, from turning the wrong way and setting his bruises on alert, to popping a stitch.

Or burning himself on a bit of silverware.

"Now why would you keep something like this about?" Aster moved the five steps necessary to reach Jack's side, and carefully caught his - his mate's - hand in his. The red welt was small, but he resolved to put a bit of his special salve on it when they got back to the Warren. Just because werewolves didn't scar didn't mean he could skip caring for his mate, now did it?

Jack smiled up at him, a red hint about his eyes. "I wasn't always as safe and sane as I am now," he pointed out. "String up a bunch of spoons on fishing wire, it makes a nice way to block off the door." And he nodded at the cave mouth.

Aster sighed, and wrapped one arm around Jack's shoulders. "Well, you won't have to do that anymore," he promised.

"Oh, I don't know..."

He cut Jack off with a quick nip to the ear. The contact made both of them jump. This was all so new... and this moving in together so soon...

He really didn't know if this was a good idea.

Jack seemed to pick up on his hesitance, or perhaps it was Jack's other - the wolf. The werewolf's eyes darkened until they were the color of fresh blood, without the luminous quality Aster had seen in every other werewolf's eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

Aster looked away. "You're hurt."

Jack shifted against him, shrugging. "I will heal. What else?"

"It just... seems very fast, don't you think?" Aster looked down at Jack, and smiled faintly. "We just start stepping out together, and then this happens and we move in... Or you move in, since there's hardly enough room in this thing for you, never mind both of us."

Those uncanny red eyes studied him for a moment, and then Jack nodded. "Sharing territory is scary," he agreed. Aster felt a chill. With those words, it was clear he wasn't talking with _Jack_ , but with the wolf.

And while Jack had chosen him, he had no idea what the wolf thought.

The wolf blinked, and smiled up at him. It both was and wasn't Jack's expression; there was something different about it all when it was the wolf, and Aster couldn't put his finger on it. Not the red eyes, as those happened whenever Jack felt strongly angry or what have you. Aster was used to _that_.

"I would love to share my territory with you, though," the wolf said. He wrapped his arms around Aster's waist, and nuzzled at the Pooka's chest. "Perhaps I can show you it, sometime. When the moon is new and the stars shine bright. Would you like that?"

Well, apparently Jack's wolf was just as gone over him as the human half of the equation. "It'd be nice," he agreed. "I just... I don't know how well _I'll_ handle _you_ in my territory."

If he could have flushed, he would have. As it was, he looked away, ears tilting back in embarrassment. To just blurt all that out...! What had he been thinking?

Nothing, apparently.

The wolf tilted his head to the side. "Why not?" he asked.

"Because..." He had to clear his throat. "Growing up, I was... I was the middle child, d'you see? There'd been about fifteen of us, including my parents. Not a usual number, even for Pooka."

No, most families had tended towards five or six children - not thirteen. Aster had never, not once in his entire life, had a jot of privacy for himself. There'd been a single bedroom for the young ones, as was norm for his people; weaned kits slept in a nest with their siblings, while those still nursing stayed with the parents. And he imagined that model wasn't so bad; the bedroom for the kits was expected to be at least double the size of the parents' bedroom, or triple.

But in his family, triple the size wasn't nearly big enough. He'd either slept squished in the middle of the nest, sweltering from the combined body heat of all his siblings and all the blankets, or freezing at the edge of the nest, trying to get some scrap of blanket to call his own. The toys he played with were all passed down from his elder siblings, and expected to be passed down once he was no longer interested with them. His clothes weren't passed on, only because by the time they got to him no amount of turning and mending could make them last any longer. So it was the eldest and the next youngest who got the new clothes, no one else.

There hadn't been anywhere in the house he could call 'his', either. Nowhere he could go off to be alone with his thoughts. Either the space was already taken, or it was considered 'too dangerous' for someone his age. He'd taken to gardening just because if he was doing _something_ , he'd normally get left alone.

Even when he'd left his parents' burrow and joined the army, he still hadn't had anything that was _his_. His kit belonged, ultimately, to the army. His weapons too. He slept in a barracks, and if he wasn't sharing a bed anymore, well, he still didn't have any privacy.

Even his appearance, from his markings to the color of his eyes, had been shared with _someone_ in his family!

There hadn't been a single thing that had been his, _just_ his, until... well. Until.

Then he'd had the Warren, and everything in it. He'd been rather rabid about protecting his privacy, too; the other Guardians could have told stories. And now, he wasn't just thinking about inviting Jack to live with him, he'd actually gone and done it! And Jack had accepted! And they were going to move all Jack's things here to the Warren, and -

And what if he couldn't stand it? What if having another person around in his home, touching all his things, wrecking his order and his routines, drove him crazy?

He loved Jack, he _did_ , but...

Jack huffed, or the wolf, it was hard to tell now just who was ascendant, and shook his head. "I can see you worrying," he said. Ah, still the wolf.

And then the wolf stood up on his toes, and there was a hand exerting gentle pressure on Aster's neck, pulling him down into a gentle kiss... He hadn't expected _that_ from the wolf, at all! It was nice though. Very much like Jack's kisses, though subtly different.

Just like his expressions...

The wolf pulled back, and Aster sighed.

"Yes. You will annoy me, too," the wolf pointed out, even as he nuzzled at Aster's jaw. "Neither of us are good at sharing. But I love you, and you love me, yes? So we will learn."

Aster relaxed into the nuzzling, and snuffled at Jack's hair. It made the wolf giggle. "When you put it like that," he said. "You're right. We'll adjust."

He rested his chin on top of Jack's head, and thought of something. "And maybe I can show you around my territory." There was plenty of stuff he'd put into the Warren, after all, with an eye to sharing it... and then never had.

Jack sighed, and somehow managed to cuddle a little bit closer. "I'd like that," he said. "I'm sure it's beautiful, every last inch."

Every last inch but the compost heap, Aster thought, but saying so would spoil the mood.

And it was a lovely one indeed.


	2. Hunting

Aster held his knife with a sure grip, and scanned the tree line with a thoroughness driven by the desperate need to keep his gaze turned _away_ from Jack. His mate was shifting from human to wolf, and he'd seen more than enough of that to last him a lifetime. Granted, the previous times had all been the aborted, torturous affairs caused by Jack's transition from mortal to spirit, but that didn't make the memories any better.

Behind him, he could hear the quiet cracks and pops of breaking bones and dislocating joints, and a curiously _wet_ sound he figured out was tearing flesh. His gorge rose, as did memories of watching Jack during one of those full moons he _hadn't_ been able to transform, watching limbs and parts of Jack's torso and skull trying to take on wolf shape, getting halfway and then failing...

That was _not_ going to happen _this_ time. Jack could finally, after three hundred years of torture, transform into his wolf-shape at will and during the full moon. Fortunately - or unfortunately, considering - apart from that first time, Aster hadn't been able to see Jack's wolf form. There'd always been something... And that first time he'd been a bit light headed from blood loss. He'd gotten an impression of white fur, red blood, and a voice screaming terror inside his mind.

The sounds behind him stopped, until all he could hear was heavy panting. Very loud panting, too. Well, werewolves did tend to be about fifty pounds or so heavier in their wolf shape than their human one. Jack, as delicate looking as he seemed, wasn't exactly a lightweight. He was solid, dense with muscle in the way of werewolves everywhere when they weren't starving to death, and it was only his magic that enabled him to fly on the wind.

Aster gave Jack another minute to collect himself, and then turned around, expecting to see a large wolf, perhaps two hundred pounds, lying on the cave floor.

He did not see that.

He saw a four hundred pound monster, standing with its head level with his diaphragm, showing its fangs and _staring_ at him.

Only after he'd scrambled backwards and fallen on his tail did he realize that the monster was Jack.

"Rack off!" he snapped, embarrassment and shame blurring into each other. Acting like an actual rabbit faced with a greyhound, and about his mate of all people! Thankfully, if the grin and wagging tail meant anything, Jack was more amused than hurt by his reaction.

_"Need kiss tail better?"_ the wolf offered, the words entering Aster's mind through their bond, not his ears.

Right then, _Silver_ was more amused than hurt by his reaction. For the best, really; the wolf's sense of humour was chancier than Jack's, being both darker and harder to rouse. Things Jack could and would laugh off tended to make the wolf retreat in a sulk, if the joke was on him.

"No, I don't," he said, and quickly stood up. At least he hadn't drawn his knife, with how clumsy he'd acted he'd probably have skewered himself with it. "Do we need to rush off?"

Werewolves couldn't shrug, even with their shoulders being more like a bear's than a canine's, but Silver gave the impression of doing so anyways. _"Not for this trail. Why?"_

Aster stepped forwards, and held his hand out. Not the way he would if he were letting an unfamiliar dog sniff his hand, but simply to convey his intention. "Haven't had a chance to get a good look at you, before this."

Silver's mouth gaped open in the canine version of a grin, revealing his very large and very white teeth. Aster smiled in return, even as he thought about the noises Tooth would make if she saw this set of chompers. Tooth did like her healthy teeth.

The rest of the werewolf was no less impressive. He was huge; from shoulder to hip his back was probably as long as Aster's, and his legs looked like they were longer. The shape of his skull, his torso and hind legs reminded the Pooka very much of a dire wolf, while his shoulders and front legs were more like a bear's, built not just for digging, but swiping with the long claws tipping each toe.

Other werewolves tended to look a bit grotesque with that mishmash of shapes, the shoulders looking distorted and plain wrong on the sleeker body, but Jack somehow made it work. It could have been the long fur, partially hiding the disparate seeming shoulders, or the way the rest of him seemed built on heavier, thicker lines than most werewolves, or both. At any rate, he was terrible and beautiful, like a male lion in his prime.

Aster had been expecting colors, maybe dark gray or brown, not a pure, shining white. Though in retrospect, why had he been expecting colors? This was _Jack Frost_ , in wolf form, but still. Silver's dull red eyes burned in the blank canvass of his fur.

All in all, his mate was quite the looker in wolf shape, a giant of a monster that stood head and shoulders - quite literally - above the rest. Aster wasn't much for _animal_ appearances - generally speaking, if it didn't have thumbs he could find it beautiful but not attractive - but apparently Jack's wolf form was closer to that line than most.

It did help that he knew the beautiful white wolf turned back into an equally beautiful human man. Made it more alright, unlike, say, lusting over an insentient Saint Bernard or something.

There was just one problem.

Aster sighed, and sank down into a crouch. Silver lowered his head a touch, so they could look into each other's eyes. After a moment, the wolf nudged Aster's shoulder with his nose. The Pooka picked up on the request quickly enough, and gave Silver a quick ear-rub.

"Right then. Want to paint your picture sometimes, but, eh..." He frowned. "How long you think we'll be on this hunt?"

Once more, he got the impression of a shrug. _"Hours, maybe. Longer, maybe,"_ the wolf said, sounding unconcerned.

"Right. Could go down to a question of who has the better endurance." He pursed his lips. "Here's the thing, mate. Wolves, and werewolves, are built for stamina. Pooka aren't."

Silver tilted his head to the side. After a minute, he spoke. _"No get."_ The words were tangled with impressions, feelings: Aster running full speed down a long tunnel; Aster staying awake long past the time Jack gave up for bed and still being out working when Jack woke up; the entire Easter run, the entire planet in under twenty-four hours.

Aster smiled, and gave Silver another scratch behind the ear. "Yeah, but that's _Easter_. When I've got the most belief, and more energy than I know what to do with. This... isn't." Sure, it was for protecting children, which would at least give him some help, but not enough to, well, get around certain physical limitations.

"Pooka are built for speed, mate. Like... like cheetah." He saw that comparison make sense; he'd taken Jack on a trip to Africa not long earlier, after the winter spirit had expressed a quiet regret about all the traveling he _hadn't_ been able to do in his first three centuries. Jack had actually made a comparison between Aster's own, lean lines and the cheetah's.

Silver looked him over, and seemed to be considering the problem. After a moment, he sat down and tilted his head to the side again. _"Cannot carry you,"_ he said, sounding regretful. _"Too big like this."_

Aster waved it off. "As if I want ya to be a pack mule for me. I was thinking I'd, well, shift into a wolf, too."

That got him quite the expression. Silver looked woefully confused, as if he'd just caught sight of a tree growing upside down or some such. _"You... wolf?"_

"Yeah." Actually, now that he was thinking about it... he found he rather liked the idea. Been a while since he'd taken any other shapes, apart from the involuntary bit of shrinkage during the past year. And that didn't count.

"I won't be any bigger as a wolf than I am now," he added, ruefully, since a wolf's mass was more... concentrated. He'd probably look a bit smaller than he currently did, actually. "But at least I'll be set up for running longer distances."

Silver looked away, clearly thinking, and then looked back. _"Will it hurt?"_

"My shifting's a bit different than yours, so... no." He cupped Silver's cheek with one hand. "Won't take more than a quick mo, either."

The werewolf licked his nose, and grinned at Aster's automatic flinch back. _"Alright. Will guard until you on feet."_

"Good on ya, mate," Aster said. He pulled off his kit, just his bandolier and bracers, and tucked the bracers away in the cave, behind a rock. The bandolier he adjusted until it'd fit over a wolf's smaller, differently shaped shoulders and chest.

After that, it was a simple matter to close his eyes and focus. There wasn't any way he'd have enough mass to turn into a dire wolf, like Jack looked like, unless it was a half-grown one, so he didn't even try. Timber wolves were big enough, even if he ran on the small side in height. Weight, at least, he still topped the scales.

It felt a little like stretching out after a workout, and about as painful. Or painless, depending on how you looked at it. When he finished, he stood on four paws, as perfect a timber wolf as had ever been born. His coat was the only thing that didn't quite fit his new shape; it was the same as when he was Pooka, from a solid gray base, to white throat and stomach, and black markings on forehead, shoulders, back and thighs.

Judging by Silver's expression and slowly wagging tail, he made a sweet little wolf.

_"Well?"_ he asked, projecting the words to Silver, as the wolf did to him.

Silver dipped his muzzle in a nod. _"Time to hunt,"_ he agreed, and turned towards the woods. _"Come! Let us bathe in the blood of our prey!"_

Aster huffed in agreement, and the two of them ran across the grass and into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously set after Jack regains his werewolf shifting ability. In the second (third, counting the prologue story) book.


	3. Healing

Aster paused, and looked down at the glass of apple juice he was nursing along. It tasted normal, not sour or drugged, if a bit off thanks to his head cold. He wasn't feverish, so he also wasn't hallucinating. So there really was no explanation for the outfit he thought Jack was wearing. Except, of course, for the slight possibility that Jack was _actually_ wearing that getup.

Jack looked mulish. "I lost a bet."

"You... lost a bet?" Aster sniffed, and set the juice aside. He frowned. "With who? And what about? And why would you agree to wear _that_?"

 _That_ was a... dress. Or a handkerchief. The outfit provided the absolute minimum of skin coverage, just barely decent even by current American standards. Other countries would still find it near pornographic.

Jack smoothed a hand down the ruffled black skirt, which was short enough his arse would show if he bent over. Considering he was dressed as a stereotypical, 'sexy' French maid, bending over was rather the point, wasn't it?

"With Silver," he said, and scowled.

"With... wot? Your wolf?"

Jack heaved a sigh, and caught the sleeve-and-strapless bodice before it slipped down. "Yes," he said, sounding completely unimpressed with everything. "I am the only person who can literally lose a bet with myself. A humiliating bet. Over a stupid thing." He held up the lap tray with one hand, showing no sign of strain at the weight.

Aster was suitably impressed. The lap tray was an old fashioned thing, made of solid copper, an easy twenty pounds that he preferred to carry with two hands, just in case. Jack not only handled the twenty pounds with ease, but kept the surface level. The bowl of soup, balanced on the tray, didn't so much as ripple as the werewolf carried the whole thing over to Aster's bedside.

"Feed a fever and starve a cold is a horrible bag of lies," Jack said, and settled the tray over Aster's lap. "Here. Chicken soup. I got it from North's."

It was the lovely, thickened broth soup he liked so much. Aster smiled, and looked sidelong at Jack, clad in some surprisingly attractive wisps of black satin and white silk. "Does this getup involve the trip to North's?"

Jack pouted, and looked away. "Maybe? So what if it does?"

Aster chuckled, but not for long. It quickly turned into a coughing fit, as his lungs tried to expel the mucus that had set up shop. The fit passed quickly enough, but he was utterly exhausted by the end of it, and Jack had been forced to reach over and steady the lap tray.

"That sounded nasty."

If he smacked the werewolf, what would happen? Besides Jack looking pitiful and his hand hurting, that is. Anything useful? No? Drat.

"Why don't werewolves get sick?" he complained, and ate the first spoonful of soup. Oh, it tasted good... just a little off, thanks to the illness, again, but good enough he could ignore the slight discrepancy. He ate another spoonful, and eyed Jack.

Really, it was ridiculous how good Jack looked in a dress. Not even a dress. His shoulders were utterly bare, all alabaster skin and subtle muscle flexing with every breath. His long neck was _right there_ , on display to a most fervent admirer.

And those arms! Jack had a single strap of black lace around each bicep, which did absolutely nothing to make him appear delicate, and everything to make him look like a delightful treat wrapped up for the Pooka.

Sitting down as he was, the short skirt had pulled up to show tantalizing glimpses of the absolute top of Jack's thigh, and suggestions that he'd once more turned up his nose at the idea of 'underwear'.

It wasn't just the soup making Aster's mouth water, that was clear.

"You'll have to wear that again, when I'm better," he said.

Jack looked at him sidelong, and sniffed. "Oh? And what do I get out of the deal?"

"Orgasms?" he suggested.

"Oh, please. Like you need encouragement to give me _those_."

Aster waved the matter away, and resolved to think of a suitable bribe later. "Why're you even... I mean, I know you lost a bet _to yourself_ , but why this?"

Jack's expression was positively sardonic. "Because I've been acting as your nurse, my fluffy one. Silver thought I should dress the part."

The soup obviously had some kind of restorative properties. This time, when Aster laughed, he didn't cough until he was lightheaded after.


	4. High

Jack folded his arms. "This is a really bad idea," he pointed out. Again. It was - or so Silver helpfully told him - the ninety-seventh time he'd said so with those exact words. And, for the ninety-seventh time, his lovely _and suicidal_ mate ignored him.

The two of them were currently somewhere in the Outback, looking out over what he'd otherwise consider a beautiful vista. They were at the top of a rather high, rocky outcrop Bunny insisted on calling a 'mesa'. They'd reached the top by rabbit hole; Bunny wanted to get to the bottom with a parachute.

All to do with overcoming his 'fear of heights'. Apparently having a sensible and rational reaction to being at splatter height and yet not having the ability to fly, threatened Bunny's effectiveness in battle. Somehow.

Jack had given in and gone along simply because if he refused, Bunny would do it anyways. Only without any safety precautions, like a flying partner staying alongside for safety reasons and moral support.

"No wind," Bunny muttered, and looked over at Jack. "That gonna be a problem? Because I told you, you can -"

"Stay behind, I know," Jack snapped. Bunny looked taken aback, and then annoyed. Well, good, it wasn't fair if Jack was the only cranky one here! "It won't matter." Sure, his speed would be limited, but the wind obeyed his call. He wasn't one to suffer the doldrums, in the original meaning of the word.

"Look, mate," Bunny started, his eyebrows furrowing over his eyes.

"Save it." Jack moved over to the edge of the mesa, and ignored the way Bunny sucked in a breath and reached one hand in his direction. If Jack fell, he'd be fine. Even if he didn't fly, he'd still bounce... Yeah, the incline wasn't so bad, he decided, looking down towards the very distant ground. The side of the mesa was only vertical for about fifty or sixty feet, before it began to angle out.

He turned just in time for Bunny to start clicking his teeth together in that way he had, when angry.

"Don't dismiss me," Bunny hissed, his nose wrinkling like the prelude to a snarl. Actually, no, not _like_ a prelude; it _was_ the prelude. Lovely.

Jack eyed his dear and beloved mate, and thought about _rabbit stew_. Silver shifted in the back of his mind, not exactly arguing, just reminding that the wolf had chosen. Even if their choice was being a hard-headed idiot at the moment, they weren't about to un-choose.

If that was even possible.

Possible or not, Jack didn't really want to contemplate a life without Bunny. Contemplating rabbit stew, however, seemed a perfect outlet for his aggravation, as compared to wrapping Bunny in countless ropes and carrying him off back to the Warren.

For one thing, Bunny could probably just snap the ropes - chains might give him pause, but they'd have to be heavy chains - and for another, he didn't really want to go back to sleeping in his cave anymore. And if he tried doing that to Bunny, it'd be his cave for a century at _least_.

"I'm not," he finally said, doing his best to keep _rabbit stew contemplations_ out of his voice. He was mildly successful, but not completely. "I just think you're being an idiot."

Bunny growled, and moved forward one angry step. And then paused and looked at the edge of the mesa, anger instantly transmuting to worry. Jack grabbed his protective impulses and immediately sat on them. Now was not the time.

"That's kinda what I mean," Jack pointed out.

Bunny turned and glared at him, his fear shoved aside for the moment. "And that's why we're here, so I can get over this shite!"

The werewolf grabbed a handful of hair, and paced away, along the edge, and then back. "Why would you do this to yourself? Why? Flinging yourself off the side of the cliff isn't going to 'fix' you, there's nothing broken! You're just a smart person! You fall, you hit, you go splat, you die, that bad! It's the crazies that jump out of perfectly good airplanes with a parachute that may or may _not_ work that needs therapy!"

Bunny was giving him an odd look. "You... you do realize that, as a nutter who will happily jump off airplanes and fall until half a dozen feet from the ground... you're in more need of therapy than skydivers, right?"

Jack shrugged. "Werewolf. Spirit. Can heal from just about anything." And, well, it was better to explain the falling thing as 'I get bored with roller coasters and this is a challenge' instead of 'latent suicidal tendencies'. Made everyone happy if he just edited his explanations that way.

Not that he had a lot of suicidal tendencies. Not since the last blackout when Silver went on a tree-destroying rampage for two weeks.

He felt the wolf sigh. _"So boring,"_ he complained.

Right. He had to be the only werewolf to go on a rampage... and then come out of it because the wolf had gotten _bored_.

"Anyways," Jack said, settling down. He quickly steered the conversation back on track. "Bunny, so what if you're scared of heights? Lots of people are. It doesn't make you weak, or incapable -"

"Yes it does!"

The mesa fell silent after that impassioned cry. It was so quiet, Jack could hear Bunny's heartbeat, even with the several feet of space between them.

"How?" he finally asked, Silver coming forward and helping to gentle his voice. Some vicious, nasty part of himself - an entirely human part, no less - wanted to find who or whatever had led Bunny to believe himself anything less than perfect, and tear it to shreds. The rest of him just wanted to sooth away that weary expression, and whatever emotion had Bunny's hands shaking.

Bunny rubbed one hand over his face, and then stared down at it. "During that last fight, ya know, flying in the sleigh... I froze, Jackie. Stood up to do nothing more'n throw a 'rang, and I just choked. Like some goddamn coward," he spat.

Jack edged closer. "That's not cowardice," he pointed out. "That's North being a bad driver."

His mate shot a disgusted look in his direction. "My fears impact my fighting ability," he said.

Silver stepped forward, and shook his head once to settle the odd feeling of human-shape. "I disagree," he said. Words, words, why all the words? They made his mate happy, though, so he used them... even if they were inefficient. "Your fears make you aware of danger that comes. It warns you in time to act. They keep you alive."

His mate flattened his ears and hissed like a snake. "You fought Pitch Black," his mate said. "And you say that?"

He shrugged, and happily stepped back so Jack could answer.

Pity one couldn't beat one's wolf up, but whatever. Jack raised his eyebrows. "Pitch is the... the paralyzing fear. What you've got is the life-saving fear. Haven't you read Gavin de Becker's book?"

Bunny looked momentarily confused, so Jack supposed he hadn't. He'd have to find a copy... later.

"There's two kinds of fear in the world, Bunny," he said, simplifying a bit. "There's fear of... of little things. A failed test. Plumbing making noise at night. Being alone. That's the fear Pitch uses, and turns into terror. But the other kind, that he can't touch. That's the life saving stuff. Fear of the knife, of the dark alley, of heights." He paused, and gave Bunny a significant look. "It doesn't mean you're weak or a coward, it just means your good sense is stepping up and saying 'this might be a bad idea'."

His mate's expression shifted, less defiant and more... lost. Jack crossed the rest of the distance, and reached up to cradle Bunny's face in his hands.

"You're the bravest person I've ever met," he murmured. "But that's the thing, isn't it? The brave person is someone who's scared... and goes and does the thing anyway."

"Pretty sure they also say that about stupid, too," Bunny said, but he pressed into the contact.

Jack shifted, until they were hugging each other. Most of the time, he thought, Bunny seemed so strong, so vivid, it was hard to remember he had trauma in his past. Most of the older wolves were like that, too; they buried their past, lived in the present, and then got walloped a good one when something made them remember.

Where had Bunny's fear of heights started? Childhood? Training to be a soldier? Crash landing on Earth? Or had it started with little things, the fall down the stairs, the lost grip on the ropes? The klaxons blaring as his ship's engine failed and an alien world rushed up to drag him down into a new life.

"I don't want you jumping off the side of a cliff with nothing but a parachute," Jack said.

Bunny sighed. "I have to get over this," he murmured, lips caressing the side of Jack's neck. "I have to. You understand me?"

Jack nodded. "You need to work through the fear," he said. "But, parachutes..."

Bunny's grip tightened around Jack's shoulders, until even his werewolf-dense bones felt like they were creaking. "But what else is there?" he asked, sounding plaintive. "I don't want to fly in the sleigh, North... And airplanes don't, I don't..."

Jack hummed, and nuzzled Bunny's shoulder. If only he could carry Bunny while...

Why couldn't he?

Jack drummed his fingers against his mate's back, thinking about it. He'd carried Bunny before, though the Pooka had been small at the time, depowered and the size of - apparently - a toddler. He'd carried Jamie, or rather Silver had... or something, the memories were a bit confused over who'd been in control at the time. But Jamie, a tiny Bunny, those were light people. Bunny now, proper sized and properly fed, was quite a bit heavier.

Four hundred pounds heavier, in fact.

Jack had always assumed he couldn't fly with anything too heavy, the magic that enabled _him_ to fly not carrying over to anything else. He'd guessed he could slow someone down if they were falling - if they were either spirits or able to see him, of course - but he'd always assumed...

"What if I carried you?" he asked, turning the idea over in his mind. Start small, just a little hover over the ground. A few feet. Bit of sore knees for him if it didn't work, but that should be fine.

"Carried me?" Bunny pulled away, just enough that he could look down at Jack's face. "Can you even do that?"

"If you mean, carry you while walking around, no question. Of course." He'd done it before, in fact. Sure, four hundred and some-odd pounds was a lot to carry in his arms, he'd prefer on his back if he had a choice, but he could do it. "If you mean flying... I'm not sure. We could start with a bit of a hover."

He waited while Bunny thought about it, clearly weighing the pros and cons. Jack could think of a few pros himself: being held during a nerve-wracking experience, starting small, no parachutes... Funnily enough he couldn't think of any cons.

"Maybe a couple feet up?" Bunny said, hands clenching on Jack's sweater.

"Sure. It'll be easier if I've got you in my arms... like, princess carry."

Bunny made a face, but did his best to help while Jack stooped and scooped, ending up with a very, very heavy rabbit cradled in his arms. It would have been easier if he'd been the bigger one, he thought wryly, even as he enjoyed the mild strain. After all, the weight that made him shift and tense belonged to his mate, who trusted him.

Jack smiled, and hopped into the air, calling on his magic and the wind to catch and hold him.

All at once, Bunny's weight seemed to drop away. The Pooka grabbed Jack's shoulders, but he relaxed quickly enough while they hovered there. Jack kept the flight, such as it was, as steady as possible. There was some bobbing up and down, but no worse than a small sailboat on a placid lake.

"Maybe a little higher?" Bunny suggested, relaxing a touch.

Jack grinned, and they began to rise, the land falling away beneath them.

He doubted this would 'cure' Bunny's fear of heights, but maybe, just maybe, he'd be more comfortable with them. Especially if Jack was there to catch him.


	5. Hurt

Of all the magic-using mortals in the world, he hated witches the most. Wizards weren't too bad; their power worked on the inanimate, and had shades of telekinesis. North was a wizard, too, and not half-bad at it when he stuck to a single project. Wiccans weren't bad either, using their sparks of power in worship. Shamans were pretty good, so far as things went, though they could go to the bad, too.

Witches, though, were unnatural. The good ones were weak and spent their lives hiding from the bad, who got their power through pain and blood.

And death.

Most magic-users couldn't see spirits. The Native Americans, or their shamans at least, could... but most of the time, didn't want to. Aster didn't blame them, either. The spirits that tended to show up around the shamans were little things, more annoying than anything. Wouldn't shut up and demanded the most ridiculous of things.

Witches, though...

Aster fluffed out his fur, and glared at their captor. She didn't seem to realize they were spirits, seemed to think they were fae - well, she knew North for a wizard, but Aster, Sandy, and Tooth were all fae, apparently - and was delighted with her 'catch'.

It made him feel unclean.

The four of them were chained up against a wall, and if the chains hadn't been twisted about by magic, Aster could have broken them easily. Sandy could have flowed around them easily. They were only silver - but silver held magic well, and everything in these chains had been set to holding. He'd tried, but they didn't break.

The witch might've been young - young enough that she was still trying to spell away her acne - but she obviously knew what she was doing.

Right down to the knives and needles she was laying out on a padded table.

Aster ground his teeth into the gag, and got absolutely nowhere. Again. Normally that didn't happen, he thought, in a sudden burst of whimsy. Normally he could chew though just about everything, given enough time.

Being captured by a psychotic mortal that got her shits and giggles torturing small animals to death, gagged and unable to communicate with his friends, was not his idea of a good time. A good time involved gardening in the Warren, or painting his eggs, or watching an egg hunt... or watching Jack bathe in the hot spring. _That_ was always worth getting up early for.

Some of those knives looked very jagged and very sharp.

Aster twisted against the chains, again, and felt the bite of too-tight metal pulling against his skin, and the harder, magical pain. It felt like thousands of thorns tearing into his arms and legs. He stopped struggling almost immediately.

He wasn't very good with pain. He could take it, in a fight, if he had to. But after he tended to become a horrible, sobbing mess, addicted to pain killers for as long as it took for the pain to stop.

If Jack were caught up in these chains, he'd keep going until they were broken and he was free. He wouldn't let pain stop him. He never had.

Aster cringed at the thought, and did his best to focus. Witches took their power from pain, all kinds. Physical, emotional... He couldn't sense anything on the chains in that direction, but he wasn't normally pessimistic. Normally he didn't compare himself to his mate, either - Jack was perfect, what was the point? - but then again normally he wasn't looking at a bunch of knives and needles and unable to defend himself.

Where was Jack?

The witch finished with the sharp things, and looked at the four of them. There was a disturbing light in her eyes, the sort Aster was used to seeing in Pitch's. She was going to cause pain, and she was going to like it. A lot.

Whatever thoughts were going through her head seemed to be good ones, because she started to smile.

Someone began to bang on the door. It was on the other side of the room, looked to be made out of solid iron, and it was rattling in the frame like it was wickerwork. Aster thought he could see dents, pushing inwards of course.

He hoped it was Jack.

The witch slammed the knife back down on the padded table, setting the other knives and needles askew. "This had better be good," she muttered, and moved over to the door. She walked quietly - sneakers were called that for a reason - but the pounding on the door stopped.

Aster's breath caught as the door was wrenched open, and he heard it. A low growl, promising mayhem and death.

The witch backed up, and groped behind her for the padded table. For a weapon. Jack followed her in, moving slow.

Aster stared, and felt a shiver run down his spine. He wasn't afraid of Jack - it was like being afraid of the world's friendliest, fluffiest puppy. Granted, this puppy spent most of his time human, had a body that made Aster's mouth go dry and his heart race, and could pick up the Pooka without any effort. Still, puppy. Harmless, a big bundle of cuddles and kisses and good humour.

This was not that puppy.

This was the werewolf that shared his bed, his heart, who had forged a bond between them that made a Pookan Mind Meld seem like two tin cans and a length of string. Ice covered Jack's shoulders and dripped down the front of his shirt, further down his sleeves. It glittered in his hair, on his skin.

And his eyes _blazed_.

Quite literally, actually; Aster could have read a large print book with the light coming from those eyes. It was red, of course, but that wouldn't matter to his eyes.

Jack was always... nice to look at, when Aster managed to get him riled up. His eyes would flash, his lip would curl, and he'd start prowling circles around the Pooka. It was at once adorable and enticing, but this? This was... Aster shivered, warning pin-pricks of magic against his arms and legs. He just wanted to push Jack, and be pushed, and grab and rip at those clothes, until he could sink his claws and teeth into the werewolf's skin.

Of course, he was currently a little tied up at the moment, but Jack was here. Aster looked up at the silver chains, and winced. Well, maybe the magic would go away when the witch died, and he could break them himself.

"You see me, witch?" Jack asked, his voice half an octave lower than normal. It _did things_ for Aster. Oh yes indeed.

The witch caught hold of what looked like a steak knife. "What do you want?" she asked. Or demanded, rather. Whined, maybe. "To become ingredients?"

Jack grinned, teeth gleaming in the light. Tooth sighed a little, and Aster rolled his eyes. Show Tooth a good set of chompers and she'd get distracted from life-threatening danger just like that.

"You stole my mate and my pack," Jack pointed out, eyes glittering in an odd way. He looked a little like when he was playing fetch with Jamie, or pony for Sophie, like he was having the time of his life. That did very nice things for Aster, too.

"Oh, is that what I did?" The witch moved quickly, Aster would give her that. Just not quickly enough to deal with a werewolf.

If the knife had been the real attack, she would've been screwed.

Jack slapped it away, and caught her wrist, all in the same motion. And then he went stiff, eyes wide and muscles straining. Tendons stood out in his neck, but he didn't move.

"Silly dog," the witch muttered. "You just be a good boy and stay there."

North breathed something that sounded very Russian and very vulgar, behind the gag. Aster couldn't believe it either - how could a simple little spell catch Jack like that?

He kept on wondering how, in horror and dismay, right up until the witch turned her back to Jack and the werewolf tore her head off with one hand.

With the other hand, Jack kept the twitching body upright until the blood stopped spurting. Then he dropped head and body to the floor, and stepped over both like they were nothing more than a wad of dirty laundry.

That blazing red gaze swept the four of them, and then focused up on the chains. Aster tried to pull free, but the death of the witch hadn't gotten rid of the magic, and pain ripped through his limbs.

Someone was growling.

Jack was growling.

Jack was growling and metal was snapping, and there were strong hands lowering him to the floor. Aster forced his eyes open, and stared at Jack's chin. Not because he was afraid of meeting Jack's gaze - nothing he liked better than looking into Jack's eyes, no matter the color - but because he couldn't move from the pain still dancing through his body.

Breaking the chains hurt worse than struggling against them had. Good to know.

Gentle hands worked the gag off him - it was a sock, she'd shoved a _sock_ in his mouth - and then stroked his cheeks and ears until he felt a little less shocky.

"Jack?"

"Here." His mate's red eyes were a little more like normal, with less glow, now. "I will release our pack. Yes? Then home."

"Yeah," Aster breathed, and leaned into the touches. "Home sounds good."

Home, where he could make sure that spell hadn't hurt his mate. Where he could curl up next to Jack and listen to the werewolf's heart beating, his breathing, and let warmth and scent and touch reassure him that everything was okay.

That Jack was okay.

Aster shivered, and rubbed at his wrist. Witches, he thought, and watched his mate break North, then Tooth, and finally Sandy free.

He really hated witches.


	6. Happiness

_Happiness is..._

Aster works his fingers into the dirt, breaking up clods and freeing roots. He could use a trowel, but he doesn't really like them; you can't feel anything through wood and metal, and the plant's at a delicate stage, can't lose too many roots. It's why he's a better gardener than everyone else in the family, because he takes the time, gets his hands messy, cares about the plants.

When he's out in the garden everyone else leaves him alone. Sometimes he likes the quiet - though it's quieter if he has his music player going, ear plugs in place and some popular song crooning love in his ears. When he's out in the garden he doesn't feel that too tight, itchy sensation that'll come on him unexpectedly, when his siblings are louder or too close or he's expected to clean up after them again.

He knows he does the same amount of work - and makes the same amount of mess - as his siblings, but... it still doesn't feel fair. There's so many of them and only one of him.

But the garden is his, and the music player is his, and he gets what amounts to privacy in this family.

And watching the plants grow is... it's nice. Because it's all his work, and the products of his work, and he's proud of it.

_Happiness is..._

Jack rolls onto his side, and lets Emily use him as a pillow. The winter wind howls at the eaves and the shutters, but the fire is warm and his fur is thick. The dogs snore in a pile by the door, well fed and cozy warm. The sheep are penned up at the side of the barn, and Jack had tossed them hay for the night before dinner. It's not cold enough for the woolies to go inside the barn; the sheep hate it in there, and there's always at least one injury from some idiot trying to bash its brains out on the wall. They're calmer if Jack's with them, in either form, but that's for the bad storms.

Their Da's carving something, and his knife makes a steady rasp against the wood. Emily's mum is knitting, the dishes done. Jack reckons it's a scarf for Da, maybe for Emily. Not for Jack, though she'd make him one if he asked. He doesn't, though he's happy to accept sweaters and trous cut and stitched carefully from the deer hide he brings her. But with his shifting, scarves are easy to lose, the wool not always easy on his sometimes sensitive skin.

This now, the winter set in and keeping his pack indoors, where it's warm and safe, this is what Jack likes best of the season. If the food gets low, he'll go out and bring down a deer or some such. If the wood stores get low, he'll go out and bring back a tree.

Otherwise, they'll just stay like this, warm and cozy together.

He snuffles Emily's hair, and lets himself drift into a doze.

_Happiness is..._

"You're not half bad, Bunnymund."

He ducks his head under the praise, stares up at the senior cadet. "Thank you." He's just a cadet level one, this one's level four; normally the seniors don't notice the juniors, even to mock. That he's being complimented is even better.

"You're going to want to watch your side, though." The senior cadet smirks. "Anyone with half a brain can tell it's your weak side. Practice, kid. You'll go far."

Aster glows, and promises to work on it. The senior cadet nods, and heads on their way, not wanting to be seen associating with someone so far down the ladder as to be queuing at the bottom.

But...

He's been noticed, told he's doing good.

Aster's making a name for himself and doing the family proud.

_Happiness is..._

Berry juice tart on his lover's lips, Jack can't get enough of it. The taste, juice and lover, as he laps at the drips.

His wolf is wary, but not especially so. And it's hard to pay attention with sweet tastes and sweeter touches. He's half naked, his lover a bit more than that, and his member is hard and urgent. He reaches down, fumbles for his lover's member, his own, presses them together. They've done this before, will do it again, and it's bliss every time.

Sometimes he worries about hell - sodomy is illegal in both mortal and divine eyes - but a werwolf is damned anyways. He might as well enjoy himself on the way there.

And it's hard to worry about a nebulous future when he has his lover, soft skin and hard muscles, writhing in pleasure beneath him.

_Happiness is..._

It's been a hard winter.

Aster watches from the shadows as the children drag themselves out of the hovel. It's not a lack of enthusiasm - after starving through the snow, they're madly enthusiastic about possible food - but energy. They just don't have the strength.

There's three of them, and he can't tell gender. Presuming there is one, under the dirt and the stark lines of bones. Their hair might be red, under the grime.

They need protein, and they're not likely to get it. That's why he's left out the eggs. Hardboiled, so they'll keep for a few hours and can be eaten immediately, long enough to be found. Brightly-painted shells so they'll be visible. In the back of his mind, he calculates how to get more eggs, because there's a lot of children that need a bit of food and he hasn't the supplies for them all.

Yet. He will, though.

First, though, he wants to make sure these three find their eggs. Poor little mites, the oldest can't be past eight years of age. Their dam's probably whelped twice as many babes as he's seen, but babies can be taken out by just about anything. These three, though... if they can get through the starvation, they should survive to adulthood.

It's harder for him to care about the adults. After Atlantis... but these are _children_.

He sees it. The middle child perks up, eyes fixing on a spot where Aster knows there's a bit of yellow against the brown. Their aimless shuffle picks up, and then they're crouching down around the cache. There's three eggs there, yellow and green and blue, and within arms' reach are another two, then three more, and one that the littlest mite finds all by theirself.

The children whisper and giggle, and peel the eggs. One takes a bite, and shouts in glee. He watches, pleased, as they devour an egg each, and then take their bounty home.

It's just a little thing, but it's something.

He really needs to find a way to get his paws on some more eggs. So many children, so little to go around...

He'll make it work though, somehow.

_Happiness is..._

His bones ache from last night, the full moon, but Jack can't help but smile anyways. There's a snowball fight going on.

The storm had been a bad one. Not entirely his fault, though whatever he'd done in his pain probably hadn't helped. Still, nothing seemed too broken, only a couple trees that'd looked seedy anyways. Or so he told himself.

And anyways, laughing children throwing snowballs.

Jack leaned sideways against a chimney, and formed a few more snowballs. Tossed them down at the older children watching indulgently.

Why should the youngsters get all the fun?

Delighted screams split the air, and Jack grinned.

At least something good's come from the snow.

_Happiness is..._

Aster pauses in front of the couch, and stares down at Jack. Or Silver, probably; the werewolf is quite happily quadruped at the moment.

And snoring.

After a minute, he sits down by Jack's head. It's not like the werewolf is taking up _all_ of the couch, just most of it. And his fear of dogs seems to completely disappear around Jack. So he's able to ignore the heap of fluff masquerading as a lycanthrope, even with the volume of the snores, and chat with Tooth while waiting for the meeting to start.

He doesn't notice when the snoring stops.

Or when a cool nose touches his thigh.

Or when his hand is nudged, and he begins scratching behind a certain wolf's ears.

He does notice when Jack's head comes to rest on his thigh, but honestly he doesn't mind. They all do things for physical contact - Tooth sticks her hands in people's mouths, North slaps people on the back or claps them on the shoulder, Aster... well, he tends to just stand next to his friends and wait for the fingers in his mouth or the slap on the back, whichever - and if Jack wants to have his ears scratched, well, he can indulge.

He's actually distracted, trying to figure out what Sandy does to get casual physical contact from his friends - does Sandy do _anything_? Is that a need Stars have? - when suddenly: fluff.

Specifically, white, fluffy fur, in his face. Because Jack has relocated onto Aster's lap.

"Wot," Aster says, hands up to keep from burying his fingers in that soft, soft pelt, staring at Tooth because maybe she can explain?

Tooth's giggling, so no she cannot.

"Wot," he asks again, and looks down at Jack. The werewolf whines, and wiggles, and next thing Aster knows Jack's belly up on his lap, looking pathetic.

"Oh, bloody - no. No, I am not rubbing your stomach!"

Jack whines again, and paws surprisingly gently at Aster's chin. Whines again, and stretches his front paws up, baring everything from his chest to his groin.

After a minute of that routine - whine, paw, whine, stretch, whine, paw some more - Aster gives in and starts tickling Jack's belly.

As long as he doesn't think about the intelligence behind that euphoric red gaze, it's not even embarrassing.

_Happiness is..._

" Puppy!" Sophie's squeal made his ears ring, but that was nothing to what came next. " _Bunny_!"

"Hey there, you little Sheila." Bunny dropped to one knee, and happily wrapped his arms around a bouncing and squealing little girl. Jack wolf-grinned at the scene, and then trotted over to Jamie and Abby. The greyhound barked and ran over, tail whipping back and forth.

Jack exchanged sniffs with Abby, and licked her ear, before pouncing on Jamie. They mock wrestled, Abby barking her excitement the entire time, until Jamie had Jack 'pinned' and was trying to tickle him through his ruff. Jack could barely feel it, but Jamie was a solid weight on his chest.

He whined, and wiggled and Jamie let him up, laughing.

"Is today a dog day?" Jamie asked, looking at Jack instead of Bunny. Smart kid. Jack dipped his muzzle in a nod, and Jamie nodded.

"How about fetch?"

Fetch sounded _awesome_.

And after fetch, he could drop down at Bunny's feet and accept the flower crown Sophie wove into his fur. Her hands would be sticky from the Warren-grown raspberries Bunny would give her, and the flowers would be lawn weeds, and Abby would probably try to cadge dog treats from Bunny even though the Pooka wouldn't have any. Jamie would tell Jack all about his week at school.

Jack could honestly say he hadn't been happier.


	7. Free Day - Meet the In-Laws

Jack slunk away from the church, the Father's voice bringing back emotions he'd long since buried or set aside.

Mostly buried. He'd grown up hearing that werewolves were monsters damned to Hell, that homosexuals - not called that in the late 1700's, but details - were equally damned. He'd known that God had turned his face from Jack, that no amount of confession and repentance would save him. Father Preston Clark would have been the first crying for Jack's death if he'd found out.

No one had found out, but Jack had still died. Sort of. If God had turned his face from Jack, the Man in the Moon hadn't.

There were days Jack was sure he'd have preferred Hell.

He took a minute to gather himself mentally and emotionally, making himself remember everything that'd happened, been said, to help refute the views of his childhood. How bisexuality and homosexuality were scientifically proven to be mostly brain chemistry, so it wasn't some sexual deviancy. Just the way he'd been born, the way God had _intended_ for him to be born. And the werewolf part... that was harder to argue with, but next to the Fae - mortal, so the same rules of contact as with human applied. Pity, there were a whole bunch he really wanted to kill, very painfully - and the black witches and the vampires, being able to transform into a giant wolf really wasn't that bad.

Besides. Bunny had been the one to point out that Jesus had befriended all kinds of sinners. He wouldn't turn his back on Jack for something he couldn't even _help_ , something that'd been forced on him. If Jesus could forgive the worst of murderers, something the church said happened, then communion and confession meant just as much for a werewolf as a killer human.

There was _nothing_ wrong with him. Well, discounting his fondness for ghost chillies and wasabi, anyways.

Jack took a deep breath, and forced himself to stand up straight. Once he had the confident posture down - head up, ears forward, tail lifted instead of trying to tuck up between his legs, chest puffed out - he felt better. He was the White Wolf of Winter. He was Jack Frost, Guardian of Children and Joy, even if he had tossed that dumb book out the window into the snow. It'd taken three hours to find it again. Bunny had given him a very nice reward when they got home.

He wasn't about to let some preacher make him feel bad about himself. Even if he liked the preacher. Father Clark was a good man, just... eighteenth century mindset.

Jack shook himself off, as though shaking water out of his coat, and then loped through the village to the fields where Bunny was hiding. It was too early for the Easter Hare mythos to have reached the American colonies, but it never hurt to be careful. One of the reasons why Jack had chosen to check the year in wolf-shape. It was only two years after he'd passed, it wasn't entirely unreasonable for someone to think they were seeing a ghost.

He didn't remember seeing anyone, well, react to him, but memory was unreliable. Better to be safe.

They were risking the time continuum for one thing, and one thing only, and that wasn't to get Jack some early believers.

Bunny was crouched under a hedge doing double-duty as a fence along the perimeter of the field. Jack sniffed one of the plants, and wrinkled his nose. Squash. And not even the good kind, but the faintly bitter stuff that he had always eaten quickly just to get rid of it faster.

For some reason that made people think he liked it, so he got double helpings.

Still, food. Not something he could ever remember turning down.

"Well?" Bunny asked, getting out from under the hedge carefully.

Jack did his best to frown at him, and then concentrated. Shifting was... about as painful as always, though at least now the pain stopped. And he could switch forms. Bunny was considerate enough to look away during the gross part, which was most of it. Especially that moment when his constantly breaking and healing body switched from distorted-wolf to distorted-human, and things were visible that should never, under any circumstance, be revealed. For once Jack didn't move halfway through, so he didn't bleed or leak other liquids.

He really needed to get better about not moving until after he'd changed.

Most werewolves preferred to wait a minute or two after a change, before pulling on clothes or accepting touch. Jack couldn't understand why; after so many years alone, he was happy to press up against his mate and feel the pain of pressure against his overly sensitive skin. Besides, it couldn't quite be called painful, not when Bunny's fur was so soft and warm. Just... he was glad that the skin sensitivity went away after a bit.

"Clothes?" Bunny asked, when Jack pulled away.

"Where'd you hide them?"

Under the hedge. He should have figured.

Jack pulled on the trousers, and they felt... right, in a way jeans never had and probably never would. The deer hide had a weight to it, and it'd been tanned until buttery soft and more flexible than the linen shirt he pulled on next. Over that came the wool cape, almost the same shade of brown as the trousers, and almost as soft.

With his bare toes digging into the ground, his staff in hand, with the smells and sounds of his home all around him, Jack felt... he felt good. Odd, a little, but good.

More importantly, he felt like _himself_.

"Right." Bunny pulled out his own clothing from under the hedge, and cleared his throat. "Right."

"You'll look good, Cottontail." Bunny looked good in everything, whether he was wearing clothes or just a few pieces of boiled leather armour. And he'd chosen his very best for this important meeting.

The very best in this case was a pair of black trousers, either a light-weight velvet or heavy-weight silk, Jack neither knew enough about fabric to tell nor did he care enough to ask, a shirt of the same color and material, and a coat that Jack wanted to steal away for himself.

And not only because it was incredibly soft - Pooka yarn, apparently made out of shed fur - and smelt like Bunny.

It was colourful, there was no denying that. The high collar was a cheerful red, the main body of the coat a rich green almost the same shade as Bunny's eyes. Jack had thought, on first seeing the coat, that Bunny had been the one to inspire Christmas' red and green colour theme, but he wasn't about to say so. He didn't enjoy sleeping on the couch, or out on the grass.

There was a kind of apron, the same shade as the collar, and cut to look like the bottom half of an egg silhouette. The belt was black, and supported several leather pouches. There were golden, egg-shaped buttons in a double row on the front, and several golden eggs embroidered on the sleeves. Which were also black, from about the elbow down.

Apparently there were green, egg-shaped glasses that were supposed to be worn with the outfit, but Jack had hidden them after the sight of Bunny in glasses had delayed them several hours. He'd give them back. Eventually.

"Well?" Bunny asked, and tweaked his sleeve straight.

"Church is letting out. It's two years after I - after. Maybe half an hour socializing, but Da doesn't like leaving the sheep alone that long, and Grace always got... gets... tired socializing. Not an introvert, exactly, but..." Jack waved one hand, words failing him.

"Prefers her groups in ones and twos?" Bunny suggested.

Jack nodded. "And Emily won't stay on her own, it'd be improper."

Bunny muttered something uncomplimentary about humans and courtship. Jack ignored him. He'd had practice, at this point.

They made their way around the village to the house Jack had built, with some help from his Da. The sheep were in the pen, and there was a dog Jack didn't recognize on guard. He - very definitely a he - looked like Socks enough to be one of her puppies, or grand-puppies maybe. Jack was able to soothe the dog quickly enough, before Bunny's phobia took over, and then they settled in to wait. Jack ended up with a dog's head in his lap, which he certainly didn't mind.

Bunny fiddled with his gold buttons, until Jack reached up and caught one hand. Then he fiddled with Jack's hand, mouth pinched tight with nerves.

"Relax." Jack rubbed his thumb over Bunny's fingers. "I promise, they don't bite."

Bunny's grip tightened enough to be painful. He didn't say anything.

Just as Jack had predicted, a trio of familiar people came into sight. They were dressed in their Sunday best, though that wasn't too much different than their every day clothing. The biggest difference Jack could see were the shoes. Everyone was wearing them, for one thing.

He watched, unable and unwilling to look away from the trio. Grace, his father, Emily... There was a suspicious lump in his throat and his eyes itched with tears unshed.

Once his family had entered their home, Jack looked up at Bunny. "You have the potion?" he asked, sounding hoarse. He must be coming down with something.

Silver snorted at him, stirring for the first time since they'd decided to do this.

Jack poked at the wolf, who gave an impression of poking back. In all honesty, he was relieved Silver wasn't ignoring him anymore. The wolf had been very against this trip, and the silent treatment... Jack was never going to tell Bunny how effective the silent treatment was.

_"Mate not ignore us,"_ Silver pointed out. _"Cuddles. Grooming. Mating. Not ignore."_

_"Are you ignoring basic grammar just to annoy me again?"_

He felt Silver turn away in haughty derision.

Bunny held up a vial of swamp-green... liquid. It sloshed, sort of, so it had to be liquid, right? Jack eyed the bottle with disfavour, but North had promised this would let them be visible to humans, no matter if they believed or not. If they were going to do something other than lurk outside his family home, they'd have to drink the stuff.

"I have honeycomb, too," Bunny said.

"Oh thank God."

Jack uncorked the vial, and quickly tossed it down. The colour was apparently indicative of taste; just like swamp water. With a little lime on the side. All the same, the honeycomb was very welcome. Jack chewed and sucked until all he had left was a ball of wax, about the consistency of old chewing gum, but more crumbly. He spat the ball out and then tossed it into the sheep pen. Bunny did the same a moment later.

"Alright." Jack stood up, and stared at the door. "Now all that's left to do is knock."

* * *

Aster held Jack's hand, tight enough he could feel bone grinding against bone under his fingertips. Jack neither seemed to notice nor care, all his attention focused on the log-frame building right in front of them. It was a tidy little thing, the walls made up of logs as thick as his forearm, cut roughly square.

Jack had built this house. His father had dug the holes for the posts and levelled the ground inside for the floor, had helped to cut the logs so they fit together and helped with sanding the planks for the floor, but Jack had been the one to cut down the trees and muscle everything into place.

Jack had been... what, ten, at most?

Sometimes he forgot what being a werewolf did for his mate. Or to his mate. It was sometimes hard to tell which applied.

The kitchen garden was respectable, though obviously limited by the time and area. Aster tapped a claw against a certain pouch on his belt. There were some herbs he could offer... but he didn't think they'd manage well in this climate, or the soil... And the questions that would get asked of the Overlands didn't bear thinking about.

Still, maybe just a few things...

Or not. Probably best to just not.

Jack cleared his throat, and knocked on the door. It was... shave and a haircut.

Aster couldn't help the disbelieving look, or the quietly voiced "Really?"

He turned his attention to the people inside. So far as soundproofing went, thick, wooden walls were almost as good as earthen ones. He couldn't make out any of the words, but he could hear three voices, a man, a woman, and a higher-voiced girl.

Jack made a tiny, pained sound beside him, and stared at the door with glowing red eyes.

Aster turned to look at his mate, just as the door opened. A woman, middle-aged and comfortable with that state, stared at them. He could see the cogs turning - giant rabbit. Wearing clothes. Standing next to... and at that point she screamed.

He would have moved, except that she screamed and flung herself at Jack, babbling and sobbing and clutching at his shoulders, touching his hair, his face, and crying some more.

Things got a little hectic after that.

A tide of emotion picked Aster up and swept him inside the home. It deposited him in a chair around what he assumed was the kitchen table, and put a cup of tea in his hands. It swirled around him, as Jack was tugged and hugged, shoved and sobbed on. The Pooka was, for the moment at least, mostly ignored.

Jack stood in the middle of the chaos, the sobbing and the pawing, and simply stared at everyone with red eyes, tears leaking from his eyes and frosting over his cheeks. Aster felt, suddenly, like a heel. He'd been the one reluctant to do this, he'd been the one that had argued and fought and spent several nights out in the fields instead of curled up with his mate, because... because why?

Because they were threatening the time continuum? It wasn't even a real threat! They'd planned this to minimize the risk, choosing a time just after a full moon so that Jack, the Jack of this time, wouldn't be able to come into the village. Hell, from what Jack remembered his self of this time could have even taken off already, going walkabout and a little crazy from isolation and monthly attempts at transforming.

It... wasn't just the threat, though. Looking at this, Jack with his family, Aster finally admitted the real reason why he'd been so reluctant.

Because he couldn't... They could bring Jack back in time to visit his family, but there wasn't any way for them to go back and visit Aster's. Ombric's powers worked only to the point of his obtaining them, no earlier, and needless to say, he was younger than the Pooka.

Much younger.

Everyone was, after all.

But this... this was good, for Jack. Even for Aster. Though he was still sure he'd get chased off for being a homosexual alien rabbit interested in their little werewolf...

Almost predictably, Jack's sister - her name was Emily, he remembered - finally noticed him. He'd put her just second to Jack, but his mate was a little busy.

She moved towards him, eyes wide and mouth open. "Are - are you a rabbit?" she asked, and then clapped both hands over her mouth.

Aster was aware, in his peripheral vision, of Jack's father and stepmother finally noticing him proper. He did his best not to pay them any attention, and focused on the child. "Sort of. I'm a Pooka. Sentient rabbit, guess you could say."

Simple, simple...

"He's an alien." Jack apparently thought simple meant something else. "Turns out there's a lot of worlds God created, out among the stars... Aster here's from one of them."

On the other hand, maybe Jack still remembered what simple meant. That made sense, from this lot's level of available education. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than Aster's.

"I see." The woman, Grace, licked her lips. "Are you dangerous?"

"To bad folk," he said, carefully. "I don't hurt those as don't hurt others." He paused, and added, "I was charged with guarding children, actually."

"Charged by who?" Jack's father, this time.

Jack pointed one finger at the ceiling. "Big guy," he said, meaning Manny, but it was... highly doubtful they'd think 'Man in the Moon' from that.

Jack's father looked like someone - someone else - had just come back from the dead. "Are you an _angel_?"

Aster snorted. "No." Definitely not.

"It would make things very awkward if you were," Jack mused, the little shit. "Although it'd also mean our union was divinely blessed..."

"I'll divinely bless your arse with my foot, ya doll bludger."

Jack turned to his parents. "He thinks he speaks English, but he doesn't."

The sister ignored the by-play, and moved closer. Aster held still when she started poking at his shoulder, feeling the soft wool of his coat. Pooka fur, of course; various members of his family had donated-because-Mam-says-so shed fur to the cause. It'd been updated with every achivement - getting into the Corps, graduating, his badges of honour and his promotions... Sometimes he thought he could still smell them, even though that was obviously impossible.

Emily looked like Jack, discounting the obvious differences in their hair and eye colour. She was finely-boned, and looked as delicate as Tooth. Like Tooth, Aster suspected she had a core of stainless steel, the heart of a warrior, and enough compassion to save the Snow Queen's victims. Like Jack, she probably had a mean right swing and left kick.

"What's your name?'

Aster smiled down at her. "E. Aster Bunnymund. But my friends call me Bunny."

Emily pursed her lips, and looked back at her parents. "I don't think we should have rabbit stew tonight."

Jack lost it. He laughed until he fell over, at which point he'd gone past laughter and into silent convulsions, tears leaking from his eyes.

* * *

His parents had questions. Of course they did. Emily had questions too, but they were easier to answer - and at the same time harder. His parents wanted to know how he'd come back from the dead, where he'd been for the last two years (in his cave, occasionally up north in Canada where white men had yet to go, generally crazed and doing his best to bash his brains out on a tree) and why he'd brought a giant rabbit home with him.

His sister wanted to know if he was okay, if he was still a werewolf (he'd let Silver out, enough to make his eyes go red, and she'd gone boneless against him in relief) and if he was staying.

Jack caught Bunny's hand, and held on. "We're actually.... this is going to sound crazy, but for me it's been three centuries," he said.

His Da looked... Jack had no idea how his Da looked, but he didn't look like he thought Jack was lying. More sad, a touch curious, and a bit of that old "I have no idea how or why this happened, but I'll just go with it" that tended to show itself whenever Jack had done something... well. Jack-ish. Like being a werewolf that herded sheep.

... They still had his championship medal out on the mantel. Cool.

Grace looked at Da, then back at Jack. "Three centuries?" she asked. "Then how...?"

Bunny cleared his throat, looking awkward. "We know a guy. He, uh, he made it possible for us to come back for a short time so... Couple hours, then we return to our time."

"A lot of rules," Jack added, and Silver rolled their eyes. Rules. Bah.

Da smiled a little. "Rules are important," he pointed out.

"Werewolf."

"Indeed." Da looked at Bunny. "And you are here because...?"

Jack lifted their joined hands. "Dad. Grace. Emily. I wanted you to meet Bunny because he's... we're together. And I wanted you to meet him." He paused, and added softly, "It's important to me."

Grace did not look nearly as surprised as she should have. Jack frowned suspiciously at her, and she smiled. "You've never been anything more than polite to the girls, Jack," she pointed out, her voice gentle like she was soothing the donkey when it was kicking up a fuss. "And your father told me about your Indian boy."

"Native," Jack mumbled. "That's the right term for it three centuries from now. Native." And thank God he'd told Bunny about his rather limited yet still emotionally invested sexual history. At that, his numbers were one higher than Bunny's.

"What Indian boy?" Emily asked, squinting at them. "What does Jack mean, together?"

"He means that we love each other," Bunny told her. "Very much."

Emily thought it over. "Like I love Jack?"

"... Ah, no." Dear God no. "Like Grace and Da," Jack said, and shook images from his head. "Only neither of us know how to cook, so we mostly just annoy a friend until he gives us food to go away."

Grace looked exasperated at that. "I'm giving you my cookbook." Jack must have made some kind of face - horrified, probably - because she snapped, "I've already copied it out once, I'll just have to do it again. I was going to give it to Minerva but she can wait. You can't be always taking food from your friend's larder!"

"Ah, North likes giving people things?" Bunny tried. "It's a thing, it's his thing, he's always giving -"

"And it's rude," Grace said, which meant that was that. Jack could feel Silver lowering his head in submission, happy to have an alpha female to follow again. Not that it meant Silver would obey her in everything, not even Da had complete obedience, but Silver was happy to hear the orders again.

Bunny opened his mouth to protest, again. Jack shot him a look, and Bunny closed his mouth.

Da just watched them, the way he did, calm and patient. Jack hunched down in his seat, and met Da's eyes.

Da hadn't been too happy about Jack's first lover, who'd also been male - or at least used male pronouns and had male equipment between his legs, even if he'd worked in the fields like the women did - but he also hadn't condemned Jack.

And as happy as he was that Grace wasn't turning him away, for being homosexual or being with Bunny - she was giving them a copy of her family cookbook, for goodness sake - it was his Da he really wanted to... be accepting, at least.

"I think we've gotten off the trail," Da said, and looked at Bunny. "So. You wish to be with my son?"

Bunny straightened up, and nodded. Of course, the question was academic, they were already together, but details. "I care about him. Very much."

Da nodded twice, and then folded his hands in front of his mouth. "Very much, hm?" he asked, his accent thickening a touch. "I see. Very much."

Bunny didn't twitch, though he looked like he wanted to. Jack wanted to, so of course Bunny wanted to, right? And Emily, completely missing most of the byplay, looked ready to ask for Silver to come out so she could play with her favourite dog.

Tempting, if only because the tension was starting to get to him.

After Da had let Jack get wound up enough that his eyes were red again, he spoke. "What are your intentions towards my son?"

... Okay. He hadn't expected that.

* * *

Aster didn't even blink. "Marriage, then children." He could sense Jack gaping at him, looking like an idiot with his mouth hanging open like that, but he didn't look away from the old man. "It's possible, for me. My people are - were - shapeshifters."

"Marriage?" Jack spluttered. "Wait, kids - that's an option? What?"

Jack's dad raised his eyebrows. "Is it now?"

"Be hard," Aster admitted. No need to go into the whole Pookan reproductive system, or how a nearly 100% male buck could get knocked up. Or caesarean sections, that just... no. "Jack's a werewolf and I'm, ah, well. Shapeshifter makes it easier, not perfect. But yeah, it's possible."

"What?" Jack asked again, and then repeated himself a handful of times. Aster ignored him, mostly.

"Jack, go entertain your sister," the old man said. Aster knew the man was also called Jack, but he didn't look it. Or not much. Too serious for the name, in his opinion.

"I'm entertained," she said, and when he glanced at her she was grinning like a loon.

The old man snorted, and looked back at Aster. "Marriage."

"It's allowed. Three centuries on, people've mostly figured out that a bloke liking another bloke or a sheila liking another sheila isn't the end of the world or an automatic trip to he-"

"Downstairs," Jack said, over Aster's muffled grumbling. He frowned at the Pooka. "Remember there's women here."

And Hell was considered a bad word. Right. "Yeah, well, Aussie," he said, in lieu of anything else. Once Jack had moved his hand, anyways.

"Anyways," Jack said, and tapped Aster's nose with a finger. "People've figured out that liking your own gender like that is just how God makes those people, like he makes everyone else. So it's allowed. Some people are still idiots about it, but some people still think the world is flat."

The old man rolled his eyes, and muttered something in German. It sounded uncomplimentary, but in Aster's opinion, so did the German phrase for 'good morning'.

"So you wish to marry my son," the old man said. "Have you asked him?"

Jack turned to his sister, and grumbled. Aster tilted an ear in his direction, and smiled. "To be fair, Jackie, you thought Silver wanted to eat me."

"I still chose you first, rabbit!"

Aster raised one eyebrow. "No, you followed me around complaining about how I'd been spying on you - I was sick for a year, and... shapeshifter... smaller."

"I liked you better when you were voiceless."

Lies. Aster grinned and ignored them. "Anyways, Jack thought I was..." he waved his hand, searching for words. "Well, my own son, basically. Then when I got myself back to normal, he accused me of spying. And then he basically stalked me making those accusations."

"That... sounds a lot like Young Jack," the old man said, and sighed. "You haven't social skills, son."

"I have skills!" Jack protested. "I do!" Grace gave him a leather-bound book, which he cuddled like he did his staff.

"Just not social ones," she pointed out, and turned to Aster. "So what do you like to eat?"

He smiled. "Chicken soup?"

"Come, Jack. I'll teach you how to make your husband's dinner."

Jack passed the book to Aster, and slunk over to the fire place. "I'm not wearing any white dress," he muttered, and Aster burst out laughing.

Well now. Maybe it'd been worth coming back here to make Jack happy.

Maybe there was no maybe about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to a sci-fi/fantasy writer convention today and will be gone for the weekend, so posting this NOW instead of NEXT WEEK (I know it's all of two days, but.) I will have my tablet, so I should be able to reply to reviews.


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